


a single bottle of yakult yogurt

by annoyingplant



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Getting Together, M/M, Meet-Cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:47:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26052157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annoyingplant/pseuds/annoyingplant
Summary: Kei can’t imagine anyone wanting to look like the models in haute fashion. He gives a half-hearted laugh (read, quick exhale through his nose) and mocks, “They must be brave, putting some idiot dressed like this on the cover.”“Oh?”Kei blinks. He looks up at the man on the other side of the register and comes face to face with said That Idiot.--Or, Tsukishima Kei accidentally insults up and coming model Haiba Lev, but then they grow close but also Lev really sucks at texting.
Relationships: Haiba Lev/Tsukishima Kei
Comments: 6
Kudos: 48





	a single bottle of yakult yogurt

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to my friend [pepsi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pepsiiii/pseuds/Pepsi) for talking to me abt levtsukki and coming up w a good 40% of the dialogue
> 
> listen i realized while proofreading that yakult has yaku in it, and like as much as i like him, this is a levtsuki zone ONLY today. there is no symbolism in the yakult what so ever. i was just craving yakult.
> 
> ok now that thats sorted have fun

Tsukishima Kei works a minimum wage job. He, unfortunately, has been a cashier at the convenience store around the corner from his college for half a year, since finals ended last semester. Last week someone tried to rob the place at 3am and Kei simply stared them down dead-eyed and dared them to come reach across the counter and stab him, to grow a pair of balls and fucking do it.

Naturally, the coward didn’t.

Tsukishima Kei works a minimum wage, dead end, stupid job and he hates it.

He’s also a college student who needs the income to not starve, so really, no wins for Tsukishima Kei in this lifetime. Maybe he should count it as a win that he was very sternly told to resign after the whole robbery thing, and really, any excuse he could get.

Kei handed in his two week notice.

At least once finals start up he won’t have to be stuck behind the register of some shitty rundown convenience store anymore.

* * *

Haiba Lev is by all accounts a very vain person. One  _ should _ be vain, when one is blessed with natural beauty. And Haiba Lev simply  _ is _ . He thinks even a less vain person would celebrate their debut by buying the magazine they’re on the cover of. 

Maybe a less vain person wouldn’t be on magazine covers.

Haiba Lev is though, and that’s what matters.

So Lev stands in line at the convenience store, holding two copies (one for his sister) of the haute couture magazine he’s already graced with his beautiful face. He can’t say he particularly liked the shoot, or the makeup, or the outfit they put him in. Too much dirt and grime, too many weird high fashion choices that no sane person would want to wear. Lev isn’t often described as particularly  _ sane _ , per se, but even he can see that high fashion makes no sense.

Not like it matters. He, Haiba Lev, is on the cover, and despite all the feathers and mud and tulle, he looks hot. On the cover of a magazine. Not just hot in real life, like he looks every day 24/7, but hot, displayed on a published paper, distributed across the country, and posted on webpages to see.

Lev brims with, for once, warranted pride.

* * *

This is Kei’s second to last shift, and not to sound too two-thousand-and-twelve, but he has fully and entirely run out of fucks to give. Some kid paid with monopoly money earlier that day and Kei dutifully filed it into the register and watched him leave. He has scanned maybe six of the thirty or so items bought in the last two hours.

What are they going to do, fire him?

So he rings up his, hopefully, last customer of the day with a quick glance to the clock and swears if someone else comes in ten minutes after closing he might as well just bash his head in on the register.

Kei drags the two items (the same magazine twice? Okay, weirdo.) across the scanner and only hears one beep and looks at the covers. God, who even buys these ugly fashion mags? Kei can’t imagine anyone wanting to look like the models in haute fashion. He gives a half-hearted laugh (read, quick exhale through his nose) and mocks, “They must be brave, putting some idiot dressed like  _ this _ on the cover.”

“Oh?”

Kei blinks. He looks up at the man on the other side of the register and comes face to face with said That Idiot.

“I--” Kei stutters, but is interrupted when the other hums. 

He glances down at the magazine still in Kei’s hands before looking back up and making eye contact and says, sounding neither hurt nor happy, in a sing-songy neutral tone, “I personally think he looks quite nice.”

Kei blinks again, and before he can fully process it, his primal instinct of customer service rears its ugly head and Kei looks away, nods his head and, “He-- Yes, I suppose, aside-aside from the clothes… I didn’t mean to-- He looks quite fine.”

He swallows thickly.

“Thanks!” the man chirps.

They stand in silence.

Kei clears his throat. “Right. Your total is 800 yen.”

The man, Haiba Lev, according to the magazine, smiles and hands over a crisp 10,000 yen bill. “You’re a bit of a dick!”

Kei chokes a little on his spit and scrambles for the counterfeit detection pen. “I-I’m sorry--”

“No worries!” Haiba pockets his change, turning to leave. “I’ll just have to take better pictures then! Change your mind.”

He winks. And promptly exits through the automatic sliding doors and leaves Kei slack-jawed behind the register, heat rising to his cheeks, unsure if any of that conversation just actually happened.

So when Kei starts closing down, he might pocket one of those magazines for himself. What are they going to do, fire him?

* * *

Kei is a normal person who doesn’t dwell on odd interactions with very hot individuals for longer than necessary.

Or at least he’d like to think he is. Unfortunately, he does find himself back in that magazine aisle of that combini, not on the clock but as a customer, which just makes it worse, flipping through fashion magazines.

“Ah,” he says, at a flowery-red page spread featuring a familiar face.

“Ah?” a voice behind him echoes and Kei jumps.

He spins around to come face to face once again with Haiba Lev, who tilts his head and blinks at him like he didn’t just sneak up on him out of the blue.

“Ah!” Haiba exclaims, eyes widening.

“Ah…?” Kei says again.

“You’re that guy! The rude one who rang me up!”

Kei wishes he would get remembered for something besides his prickly attitude.

Haiba continues, “I didn’t recognize you without your work clothes. Remember me?”

Kei blinks, then narrows his eyes at the sheer absurdity of their conversation so far, and in lue of an answer, gives a simple nod.

Haiba looks down at the magazine Kei is still holding, at  _ his _ page and asks, like it’s not painfully obvious already, “What are we looking at?”

“We?” Kei echoes under his breath and closes the brochure a little, feeling uncomfortably close to a very hot almost-stranger who’s trying quite determinedly to look over his shoulder.

“I remember that shoot.” Haiba hums, eyes shut like he’s in blissful remembrance. “Red and pink really are my colors.”

Kei absentmindedly nods.

“Well,” Haiba continues, with a big smile, “Everything is!”

Kei nods again, then, “Uh, can I help you?”

Haiba thinks for a minute, looks Kei up and down, then tilts his head. “Do you still work here?”

“Quite clearly not.”

“Can you ring me up?”   
  
“Obviously, no.”

“Hmm,” Haiba is quiet for a moment, shrugs. “Then I suppose you can’t!”

Kei blinks. He doesn’t understand the way this man’s mind works, how he can openly just  _ say _ things. He doesn’t understand why despite his brashness, Kei finds him, frankly, fascinating.

He’s also just a little insulted.

“So?” Haiba smiles innocently and leans  _ even _ closer and Kei has to take a step back, bumping into the shelf. “What do you do now?”

“I- uh.” Kei isn’t usually one to stutter, but the sheer disregard Haiba has shown for personal space and general manners has left him more than just a little baffled. “I’m focusing on my finals.”

“Oh, you’re unemployed!”

Kei blinks.

He’s taken aback by the absurdity of stating it out loud, though not offended, because looking at the sincerity in Haiba’s eyes, Kei finds it hard to believe the other could’ve meant it as an insult or anything of the like.

“Good luck getting another job!” Haiba smiles. “You need it!”

Huh. Kei is... offended. Haiba said it so simply, earnestly, Kei has a hard time actually being offended, but it’s certainly not stopping him.

His brows furrow. “What?”

“Well!” Haiba, instead of offering an explanation or even a sensible reply of any kind, offloads his shopping basket, in it a single bottle of Yakult yogurt, into Kei’s barely open palm, waves, and before Kei can even begin to process it, leaves once again through the automatic sliding doors.

“Bye, Mr Ex-Employee!” he says, like it’s the most normal thing to say after ending a conversation in the most normal way.

Kei stands and blinks and gapes for another good minute after Haiba has left, then adds the magazine he’s  _ still _ holding into the basket and goes to pay.

* * *

“You know, I don’t usually go to places I don’t work anymore,” Haiba says, standing directly behind Kei in the snack aisle.

“Fuck!” Kei exclaims, eloquently. “How is someone so big and loud so quiet when walking?”

“How is someone so small?” Haiba counters.

Kei narrows his eyes, confused. “What?”

Haiba sighs, like he’s disappointed he even has to explain. “You’re very small.”

Kei shakes his head. “I’m really not.”

“Since you’re my shopping friend now,” Haiba ignores Kei, and continues talking like he isn’t making a series of disjointed statements, “I thought it would be good to break the ice. So! Why are you small?”

Kei blinks.

Haiba smiles, waits for a reply.

Kei, unfortunately, does still think Haiba is very, really very, hot. And Kei is but one poor single college student and also very, really very, gay. 

“Okay,” He takes a breath, exhaling with a sigh. “Let’s maybe start with the basics then. My name is Tsukishima, I’m an art history major and the reason I still go to places I used to work is because  _ this _ place is close to my college. I am not small.”

“Yeah, you are!”

Kei rolls his eyes. “You’re supposed to say ‘nice to meet you’.”

“Nice to meet you, Tsukki,” Haiba parrots. “Do you know my name?”

“I--”

“Of course you do! Tsukki, you’re my fan.”

“No, I’m not.” That’s a bold-faced lie. “And that’s not my name.” That isn’t.

Haiba pouts. Maybe Kei thinks he’s cute.

“Can…” Kei starts and Haiba perks up as he begins speaking. “Can I have your number?”

Haiba blinks. Then laughs. “Ha! Sure, okay!”

Kei feels himself blush.

* * *

That was three weeks ago. Kei had texted Haiba when he got home that day, and put his phone down to study and forgotten about it. When he had picked it back up two days later, he had done so just in time to watch his message go from received to read.

No reply had followed.

Kei had given up on the whole weird model guy thing soon after. Hell, the guy was on magazine covers, he probably didn’t have the time to play around with regular people like Kei. Whatever. Kei had decided it was probably for the better.

And yet, here he is, stressing over what to wear this evening, which wine to bring.

Frankly, Shoyo has had enough of this.

“Why did you say you wanted to bring wine to this guy’s place again?” Shoyo huffs, sitting on Kei’s floor, arms crossed, very much unimpressed by Kei’s story.

“He said it’s classier than beer,” Kei answers, digging through his wardrobe for that one black turtleneck he wears when he wants to impress people.

Shoyo huffs, louder. “Are you listening to yourself? This is that same model-guy who’s a dick to you every time you bump into each other.”

Kei nods, not even turning. “Yeah, but he’s like, weirdly nice about it.”

“And he’s  _ hot _ , I know.” Shoyo puffs his cheeks, rolls his eyes. “I just don’t think that warrants leaving you on read for three weeks and then deciding he wants your help with some painting or what not.”

“I know, okay?” Kei tosses the turtleneck over one shoulder, turning to give Shoyo a brief glare, then continues looking for pants to wear. “I’m not going to go and get  _ married _ to the guy, I’m just going to drink wine with him and appraise a painting.”

“You barely know how to do that.”

“And? He doesn’t need to be aware of that.”

Kei stops his rummaging then, turning fully to look at his friend. His brows furrow slightly, anxious. “Do you-- do you think this is a date?”

* * *

Kei stands, dressed up, but not like he tried  _ too _ hard; Kei always looks like he tries the appropriate amount and anything above that is simply effortless. So Kei stands, in a high rise, in front of a very fancy condo door, and waits for his host (date?) to welcome him in. In one hand he holds the strap of his bag, in it appraising tools he’d borrowed from a senior and his textbooks, in the other an expensive, but not  _ too _ expensive bottle of wine.

“Tsukki! Haha, wow, you clean up nice.”

Kei blinks. Haiba is wearing a loose-fitting t-shirt and sweatpants. He looks like he just woke up and maybe went as far as brushing his hair. Looking at how  _ well _ Haiba looks in casual clothes, Kei starts to feel maybe a bit overdressed.

Haiba blinks as well. He’s already stepped away from the doorway, making space for Kei to enter and tilts his head. “You coming?”

* * *

Lev had bought a painting. Not an expensive one or anything like that, sure, he’s decadent, but even he has his limits. A painting from the thrift store; it looks to be in its original frame and it's quite pretty. Though Lev doesn’t really get the subject it’s depicting, abstract art and all.

What matters is that it’s beautiful. Like him. So it would only suit him to buy it and hang it in his apartment, to make his walls beautiful as well.

It isn’t until he’s paid for it and driven a nail into his wall and displayed the painting, that he remembers meeting someone, Tsukki, who mentioned studying art, or something like that. Lev, knowing himself and his keen eye for details, wouldn’t be surprised if this painting he bought turned out to be a long lost Monet, or Michelangelo, or Someone.

So he decides to have his friend, Tsukki!, come and appraise it, and Lev can watch and drink wine.

And so Tsukki sits on Lev’s couch, leaning over his couch table, squinting through a magnifying glass and looking generally very silly.

Lev is leaning back on said couch, feet kicked up, sipping wine, watching Tsukki go from squinting at the painting he bought for 400 yen to flipping through the book he brought himself, then adjust his phone flashlight for brightness and move even  _ closer _ to the painting.

It’s all very amusing, and maybe despite Tsukki not having touched his wine at all yet, Lev is a little bit tipsy. It’s okay, though. Lev watches and asks enthusiastic questions and ‘ooh’s and ‘aah’s at the right times.

And then Tsukki pauses his work, looking visibly uncomfortable, if just a little. Lev, ever attentive, watches as Tsukki sits up straighter, takes two big sips from his wine glass and turns to look at Lev reclining.

Lev wonders if the flush in his cheeks is because of the wine.

“Is…” Tsukki glances away, like he couldn’t handle Lev’s unblinking gaze. He clears his throat, hands restless at his sides, fingers tapping arrhythmically at the side of his silly little magnifying glass. “Is this a date?”

“Uhhh.” Lev blinks. He weighs his options. “No.”

Tsukki freezes for a second, the tapping stops. He’s still not looking at Lev.

Lev sits up a little straighter, sets his own glass of wine down on the couch table, dangerously close to the edge, but he’s never been one to care about dangers. “But it can be!”

Tsukki turns at that, eyes wide and red high on his cheeks. Lev thinks this was definitely worth the 400 he spent on that painting.

“I,” Tsukki starts and the tapping picks up again. He’s smiling, if just a little. “I’d like that.”

“Great!” Lev exclaims, grinning, watching Tsukki’s eyes behind his glasses. “We’re on a date.”

“Yeah.” Tsukki says.

He looks back down at the painting he’d been examining so closely and pauses for a second. He gives a quick laugh (cute!), and props his face on one hand, the other gesturing towards it. “This thing is worth shit, by the way.”

Lev blinks. And laughs. And then leans impossibly closer.

“Can we kiss?”

Tsukki blinks also. Lev watches his expression as he begins to register the question he was just asked. “Wh-- Huh?”

Lev tilts his head. “Is that a yes?”

A deep breath, Lev watches Tsukki’s lips as he exhales. “...yes.”

And so they kiss. Lev leans even closer than he was before and Tsukki closes his eyes before Lev does and then their lips are touching and it’s all very innocent and warm and there’s the taste of wine in both their mouths, but especially Lev’s, and Tsukki shifts closer to and wraps an arm around Lev. 

That is to say, it’s a very nice kiss.

Tsukki pulls away first, cheeks flushed and glasses a little skewed. Lev thinks he looks very cute like this, and it’s all thanks to him! Tsukki chuckles, quietly, like he’s embarrassed. “I’ve… wanted to do this for a month now.”

“Really? Wow,” Lev says, a little incredulous, though, sure, he is very great and hot. “I’m flattered. Kiss me again.”

* * *

So Lev hangs the painting back up and has a fond memory to think back to when he sees it. He continues living his life and going to work and doing his fifteen step skincare routine and not noticing when his phone buzzes, until he’s sitting in hair and makeup a week after he kissed the living daylights out of Tsukki on his couch and sees Tsukki had messaged him that very day; just a quick text saying he’d had a nice night, hoping to see him again.

Oops.

Lev has half the mind to think of a reply before he’s called away to the actual shoot.

And then another week passes and he’s in the convenience store, buying a single bottle of yakult yogurt and Tsukki quite literally runs into him.

Lev is about to turn and complain, he’s so big and tall and handsome, how could someone not see him?, but then he realizes it was his friend(?) Tsukki, and also, that his friend(?) Tsukki looks like absolute death.

His hair is greasy, and his lips look dry and chapped, not even looking at the giant dark rings underneath his eyes, Lev can tell Tsukki hasn’t slept in maybe a week.

“Woah,” he says, “Because I forgot to text back?”

“What?” Tsukki replies and his voice is a dry rasp like he hasn’t used it in a century. “You didn’t?”

Lev blinks. Usually people notice when he leaves them on read. His friends joke about his bad habit. His manager quite literally hates his guts for it. Tsukki didn’t realize?

“Are you okay?” And then, to make it seem less like he’s surprised Tsukki didn’t care about being ignored and more like he’s genuinely concerned (which he also is!), he adds, “You look terrible.”

Tsukki huffs, and shrinks further into his hoodie, feet shifting as he rebalances himself. “I’m fine. Finals. Whatever. I hate college.”

“Ah,” Lev hums, “I never went. Tell me about it over dinner when you’re done with testing?”

Tsukki pauses, blinks, takes way too long to reply to a question where the only right answer is a simple ‘yes’, and then he says, “what?”

Lev blinks. “What?”

And then Tsukki sways for a second, trying to hold onto Lev’s sleeve for purchase, before ultimately collapsing into him, knocking the air out of Lev’s lungs and knocking Lev himself into the magazine stand.

“Holy shit,”, Lev says, catching both of them and gently propping Tsukki back up. He laughs, patting the dust off his, mind you, very expensive, jacket. “Haha, did you die, Tsukki? What was that?”

When Tsukki doesn’t reply to that, Lev squints and notices, upon closer inspection, that Tsukki looks no longer just  _ like _ death, but actually fairly dead. At the very least, his eyes are shut and Lev, untrained but ever observant, assumes he might have passed out.

Lev shakes Tsukki a little, to which Tsukki only slumps further against him.

“Haha,” Lev laughs again, growing increasingly nervous now that his friend(?) Tsukki isn’t waking up anymore. “Wait.”

* * *

The last thing Kei really remembers before things grow into a haze is stumbling out of his last final, having aced it, naturally. So it is understandably quite disorienting for him, waking up in a barely familiar place, after not even remembering falling asleep.

Haiba sits on the couch table next to him, fiddling with his phone, and Kei does recognize the couch he’s on, though he doesn’t recognize the weight on his lap. Kei blinks, he doesn’t have his glasses on. “What is on me?”

“Tsukki!” Haiba almost yells, noticeably brightening once he sees Kei awake.

“Haiba,” Kei answers, though not even making an attempt to match the volume. “What’s on me?”

“My cat.”

Kei blinks. “Why am I on your couch?”

“You passed out on me at the conbini,” Haiba says with a nervous laugh. “I called your emergency contact on your phone, he said you were probably sleep deprived, so I, like, let you crash at my place.”

“You called Shoyo?”

“Yeah. I thought you died, Tsukki!”

“Mh.” Kei says, rubbing his eyes and blindly reaching for his glasses until Haiba hands them to him. “I passed out?”

Haiba laughs again. “Yeah! You’re full of questions today, Tsukki.”

Kei blinks. “One more then.”

“Go ahead.”

“Can you kiss me?”

Haiba blinks as well, smiles wide, and then, chivalrous as he’s known to be, says, “Can I take a picture of my cat on your lap first? Okay? I’m just gonna do it. Okay! Now!”

And then he bridges the gap between couch table and couch and kisses Kei, just a soft press of their lips, not like Kei could mentally or physically handle anything more than that given his current, admittedly, very fragile state.

“Thank you,” Kei says, when Haiba pulls away again, and Haiba beams at him, bright eyed.

“You need to start replying to my texts, if you want this thing we have to continue.”

Haiba blinks. “I have a very demanding job-”

“Don’t,” Kei interrupts, brows furrowing. “If you make me wait two weeks to say good morning back, I will quite literally never talk to you again.”

“Okay,” Haiba, despite himself, chuckles, “Okay.”

Kei reaches for his hand, pulls him closer once again. “Promise me.”

Haiba follows where Kei pulls, his free hand moving slowly to cup his face. “I promise.”

“Okay,” he smiles, satisfied, briefly loosening his grip on Haiba’s hand to instead interlace their fingers. “Now, kiss me again.”

* * *

When Kei wakes again this time, he’s in a king sized bed, underneath a blanket. But this time he remembers falling asleep, remembers getting into bed and asking for Haiba to come join him with open arms and Haiba happily obliging.

Haiba isn’t there now, it’s dark and Kei has the headache of a lifetime.

“How long was I out for?”

The cat on his chest is of no particular help and doesn’t even try to answer his question.

Kei grunts and reaches for his glasses on the nightstand, fingers finding a note gingerly placed on top of them as well, which, once read, reveals that Haiba had gone to work, a night shoot, and left his cat to keep an eye on Kei.

Huh.

* * *

Lev comes home from work that morning, exhausted and sticky with makeup and hairspray, a convenience store bento tucked neatly into his bag, to find breakfast already on the kitchen table. Two bowls of plain white rice, topped with a fried egg and some chili flakes, and two bowls of miso soup. It’s a simple meal, but it’s still warm and steamy.

Lev stands, almost dumbfounded, in the entryway of his condo for longer than he’d like to admit, just, looking at the fresh food.

On one side of the table, there is a single bottle of yakult yogurt set aside.

He can hear water running from the direction of his bathroom.

Huh.

**Author's Note:**

> haha yay, follow me on twitter at @annoyedplant thanks


End file.
